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Amu

Tigress She touched her reflection in the mirror with weak shaking hands, as if lifting a hand devoid her of all the little energy she has left. Her lips were chopped, her skin dry and her hair disheveled. Her eyes lost the mischievous twinkle they used to have back before the voices came. It was two o’clock in the morning and she was biting hard on her lower lip to avoid making a sob, afraid that the whole world would know how broken she was. The voices surrounded her at all corners, laughing mockingly at her as she broke down and wept like a bully enjoying every ounce of his victim’s suffering. They did not stop until the strong tower she made for herself lost its foundation, crumbling brick by brick, until the glorious top fell on the ground and turned into typical dusts. She reminded me of that summer vacation back in 2010. When I first entered the zoo, the tigress was the first to catch my eyes like she was commanding everybody, including me, to pay attention to her or else... She was a powerful force of nature who wore her stripes like they were marks of her superiority. She growled at every curious tourist who came near, her eyes twinkling in mischief as they shrieked in terror. She circled gracefully in her rotting stupid cage like a tornado circling around helpless barricade of rotten woods—if she decided to throw down that cage, she could. The way she curved her carnivorous mouth was ordering you to wait with trembling hands, because she was just thinking the same thing and you would not have any clue when she does. I wonder why the zookeepers kept on giving the tigress uneasy and worried glances like the cage that they should—ought to— make sure was locked and secured was not really that secured. “Why do they doubt their own job?” My eleven-year-old self blurted out, unimpressed with the zookeepers’ stupidity. “Because if the tigress escapes,” my father smirked arrogantly, almost gloating, “they all know they will be screwed.” And now that I’m old, I realized why those mocking voices are taking their time to harass her: Because if the tigress escapes in that body of hers, they all know they will be screwed. She is a powerful tigress caged inside a tired body. Her body is tired, worn out, fed up—and her mind is tricking that the tigress inside her, is also tired, worn out and fed up—but she isn’t. She’s just taking her time, making her enemies wait with trembling hands as they sweat in nervousness dreading the time she will decide to come out, with claws and sharp teeth ready to devour them whole. Because when she does, the sobbing mouth that they love so much will no longer cry but will just laugh its ass off over the baseless insults the enemies are throwing at her. The pointed objects that she once thought of putting in herself will be pointed at her enemies, with pride in her chinky eyes and a you-cannot-fool-me-this-time smile plastered on her once-again-confident self. The darkness that she wanted to hid from would soon be her throne, she would reign in it like a diva queen, and they would look up to her like slaves looking up to their master because they’re just one of the many voices she chose to roll her eyes to as if saying, I’m gonna pay my precious attention to you once you gain a single pinch of value, kay? Because here’s the thing little sweetheart, the evil voices are not afraid of the tigress inside you. They tremble in fear of the tigress that will come out of you. —Amuelle Aguilar Tigress